A Drop of Venom
by hpotter225
Summary: Harry's gone he's been missing since the first week in June. It's the 30th of July now, and Hermione can't take it. But then he returns, and with him brings hope, joy, pain, anger, power, and just a smidgen of mystery. And Hermione snags him as he leaves
1. The Beginning

**A Drop of Venom**

**By hpotter225**

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the original characters created by J.K. Rowling, and I own none of the original scenes and places described by her. All I own is the plot and any original characters, places and ideas created by me.

**Chapter 1: A knife, a flame, a shimmer**

It had been three months since he had left - three long, painful months since she had found the note lying there on his pillow. No one had seen it coming; he was so docile and peaceful for weeks. But it had happened, and it had hurt.

They were at the Weasley's - it was a week until the Bill and Fleur's wedding and everyone was as happy as could be. Even Harry had smiled, though only once, and joined the festivities. Hermione had spotted his smile as she laced the hem of Fleur's wedding robes. It was like the moon breaking through a cloudy night. It was then that she decided he didn't need to be watched any more. If he hadn't made any attempts to leave yet, then he wasn't going to make any attempts to leave. Thirty minutes later, she walked into Harry's room and found out just how wrong she was.

The note on the bed lay like a gleaming blade, splattered with blood. It was slightly crinkled and written in a hurried scrawl, pinned to the bed by a small, red umbrella.

_Hermione, _

_I know you will be the first to find this note; your watchman ship is most remarkable. I also know that you will be angry with me, and rightly so. But you must understand that this is something I must do alone. It is my task, assigned by Dumbledore, who trusted me to make the right decision. This is the right decision. _

_Don't come looking for me. You won't find me. I will not be at my relatives' house until the thirtieth of July. Until then, you know what I will be doing: searching and training and keeping myself safe. _

_See you at Hogwarts. _

_Your best friend, _

_Harry_

Hermione crushed the note in her hand and blinked back a wave of hot tears. Harry hadn't written once since then, and he hadn't shown up at the Dursley's. She had waited all day and night, sitting alone on his bed with nothing but her old copy of Hogwarts: A History to keep her company, but he didn't show up.

And again, same as countless nights before, Hermione cried herself to sleep.

"Hermione, wake up. We're leaving in an hour!"

A hand was roughly shaking Hermione's shoulder back and forth. Hermione swatted at it.

"Coming," she grumbled, shoving her head under a pillow. "Just five minutes."

It was silent for a moment. Then Hermione's mattress was violently jerked into the air and she fell onto the floor in a tangle of sheets.

Hermione glared at Ginny. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And you have to help mum with breakfast. I'm going to take a shower." She grabbed her bathrobe from the wall, jumped over the tangled mess that was Hermione and swept out of the room.

Five minutes later, Hermione entered the kitchen much refreshed and joined Mrs. Weasley with the cooking.

"No, no, Hermione dear," clucked Mrs. Weasley as she pulled Hermione's arm back. "It's more of a swish and a sharp cut, like this." She swung her wand around and a fire appeared under the pot.

"Oh no," said a familiar voice from the doorway.

"Not her," came its partner.

"We might as well eat bricks," said Fred.

"Or ticks," said George.

"Or hicks," said Fred.

"Eww," said George, sticking his tongue out. "That's disgusting."

"Oh, please," said Hermione, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

At that moment, another red-headed Weasley entered into the kitchen.

"What smells so good?" asked Ron, rubbing his stomach. "Ah," he said as he saw Hermione. "Another excellent breakfast."

A loud sniggering erupted from the corner.

"Excellent like burnt waffles," said Fred loudly.

"Good one!" said George.

They high-fived across the table, eliciting an eye roll from Hermione. It confused her to no end how Fred and George could be so talented at Charms, Potions and Transfiguration, but without studying at all. She didn't even know half of the spells they used, never mind how to reverse them. Not just once that summer had she found herself stuck to the ceiling, of all places, or with a wooden nose, or wearing heavy steel boots, or suddenly blinded by the flashing of a thousand cameras. Though she had to admit that the pictures were quite amusing.

But nothing amused her much any more, at least not since Harry had left. She couldn't help thinking that it was her fault that he had left; if only she had been nicer, more understanding. It had been her fault, she was convinced, that he had left. Her leash on him had been too obvious, too noticeable; after all, it had been the first sentence in his letter, "_I know you will be the first to find this note; your watchman ship is most remarkable_." She would have to brush up on her diversionary spells after lunch.

Hermione had been training since the day Harry left. Every morning between breakfast and lunch, she read about various defensive charms and curse-breaking techniques. The rest of the day she practiced in the back yard by conjuring injured dummies, healing them, casting protection over them, and then hexing them to smithereens.

With a dull sigh, Hermione asked Mrs. Weasley if she could leave, and went out to the garden. After checking for any stray gnomes she pulled out her wand and conjured a makeshift dummy in the center of the garden. She was not in the mood for reading.

"Now," said Hermione out loud, "the Abrasium Hex leaves a stinging cut across the lower abdomen, and must be treated within twenty-two minutes of the incident. Otherwise the mark will permanently embed itself into the body. If struck with the Abrasium Hex, the victim must perform the following wand movement to deactivate the spreading: one swish upwards, a jab..."

Hermione repeated the procedure like a robot. With two swift flicks of her wand, a gash appeared around the dummy's waist. After another swish, two ropes flew from the end of her wand and pulled the dummy to the ground. She sprinted to its side and chanted the counter-curse under her breath. The cut immediately stopped growing and, with a loud pop, disappeared completely.

The sound of clapping made Hermione spin around. Ron was sitting on a log near the outskirts of the garden with a goofy smile on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes and pocketed her wand.

"It wasn't that good," she said as she sat on the log next to Ron. "Breakfast is already over?"

"Yes," said Ron gloomily. "And I couldn't help but notice that you didn't eat anything. Here, I brought you some eggs and toast."

Ron turned around and picked up a plate off the ground. Hermione took it and set it on the log.

"Thanks Ron," she said gratefully. "I'll teach you some healing spells after I eat, if you want."

"Sure, I'd like that," said Ron as he folded his arms across his chest and sat on the ground, using the log as a backrest.

Hermione finished her breakfast and sat next to Ron. His eyes were downcast, staring at the ground and he was holding tightly onto his side.

"Is something wrong?" asked Hermione, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ron looked up. "He didn't show up, did he?"

Hermione felt like a hand had just crushed her throat. She had spent all morning trying to forget, vented her rage into the Abrasium Hex. Now she had to relive it again.

A floodgate of tears nearly opened behind Hermione's eyes, but she wiped them with her hands and sniffed. She couldn't bring herself to answer. She didn't need to answer.

A pair of arms wrapped around Hermione's shoulders. "Stupid git," muttered Ron.

"Ron!" shouted Hermione suddenly, pushing him away and jumping to her feet. "How can you say that? He's sacrificed himself so that _you _and _I _won't get hurt. He's not a stupid git, he's selfless and thick-headed... but he-he-he..."

Ron placed a finger on her lips and stared into her eyes. His face was not angry or upset, but calm and collected. "Either way, he's gone and we can't do anything about it."

His words cut Hermione deeply. He had phrased the idea, the thought, that had terrorized her dreams for the past three months. The very _dream_ of it gave her chills, made her spine shiver. She had never felt so detached, so alone. Without Harry she felt like an empty cup: useless and expendable.

A sob escaped Hermione's mouth and she buried her head in Ron's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled him close, latching on to make sure he wouldn't leave.

"I miss him so much," whispered Hermione shakily.

"We all do," Ron said, burying his face in Hermione's hair.

They held onto each other for as long as Hermione could remember.

After Hermione had calmed down, a voice called from the house.

"Hurry up you loafers. We're going into Diagon Alley!" shouted Fred - or was it George?

Hermione and Ron shared a quick glance, then they rushed into the house, their problems forgotten and their hopes guiding their futures like a lamp in the darkness.

Diagon Alley had not changed since the last summer. It was still and quiet and the sidewalks were marked with occasional wizards and witches. Hermione's favorite bookstore was still covered from floor to roof with Ministry posters, which she noticed with much annoyance.

"Come on kids, let's get our robes first. A little pixie told me something of a Ball this year," said Mrs. Weasley as she winked not-so-surreptitiously at Hermione.

Hermione grimaced. She couldn't imagine having fun at all this year without Harry around.

"I'd rather like to buy my books first," said Hermione. "I've got a few extra items I need to buy anyways."

"But Hermione, dear..." sputtered Mrs. Weasley.

"I can take care of myself," said Hermione. "I'm a legal adult."

Mrs. Weasley appeared to be on the brink of explosion, but Remus placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "She's right Molly. It's about time she and Ron started looking after themselves. Merlin knows they've done it every year at Hogwarts until now."

"But they're just children!" protested Mrs. Weasley.

"And so were you, once," said Remus calmly.

Hermione felt sick. "I'll meet you in an hour, and if I don't find you then I'll be in Flourish and Blotts."

Before anyone could respond, Hermione whisked away and walked down the street. A few moments later she pushed open the door to Flourish and Blotts.

It was so similar to the previous year that Hermione suspected someone had cast a freezing charm after they had left last, and it had just finished thawing. The same aisles were in place, still bolted to the ground and still filled with the same alphabetized books, and the same jar of Chocolate Frogs rested on the checkout counter by an ancient cash register with an equally as ancient book-keeper seated behind it. He raised a wrinkled hand in greeting.

Hermione smiled and waved back. She had always liked this store, the way it made her feel at home, the smell of new books. Albeit, she did think the dusty and dank smell warranted some improvement.

She quickly made her way to the far end of the store and began running her finger over the covers of the books as her eyes scanned the titles.

_Hogward's Harangues... Hog Wars and Heliopaths... Hogwarts: A History, Twelve Edition... _

Hermione grabbed the book from the shelf. It had changed colors twice since she had discovered it. First it was red, then brown, and the newest edition was blue with gold trim. She thought it looked rather nice.

The book made a slight cracking sound as Hermione bent the covers apart. An aroma of new paper drifted into her nose and she sat back, reveling in it. She quickly scanned the contents and flipped to the page on the Founders.

_Slytherin was a master of Charms and Enchantments. The protections guarding the ancient school were set into the stones by Salazar himself. But his greatest work had been the Great Hall. He placed such powerful and ancient Enchantments that even the great Albus Dumbledore has failed to ascertain their origin. All that is known about them is that they cause the ceiling to reflect the Headmaster's mood, and negate any outside magical source - the perfect protection from dark wizards. _

Hermione leaned back. There was nothing new in the book, just one short paragraph about Salazar Slytherin. She had expected that, after all; it was just her luck. She sighed and bought the rest of her books.

As Hermione rounded the corner of the bookstore, she saw a flash of black to her left. A man was walking swiftly down the alley adjacent to the store. And his smooth strides and long, greasy black hair strewn about his shoulders could be only from one man: Severus Snape.

An insane anger bubbled up in Hermione's chest. Here was the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore in cold blood, run away from everything that was good, played spy for the Dark Lord and treated Harry like an incompetent child for all of six years. He deserved Azkaban.

Hermione snatched her wand and followed silently down the alley. She held her nose, nearly gagging from the stench, as Snape ducked behind the store. He spoke in a low hiss.

"Draco, you must move quickly. The Dark Lord will be most displeased if you fail him again," said Snape.

"But, but, sir," sputtered Malfoy. "I can't just murder her in a public bookstore. That's not very Malfoy-like."

"Fool of a Malfoy," spat Snape. "You'd rather be crushed in the Dark Lord's claws than murder a puny Mudblood in a public bookstore. Lucius would be ashamed."

"Don't talk about my father!" shouted Malfoy.

"_Silencio!_ Keep your mouth shut, fool. I will give you one last chance before I go in and kill her myself. You have ten seconds."

"But sir!" protested Malfoy. "We should wait to get her alone, shouldn't we?"

"Three seconds!" hissed Snape.

"I'll do it!" shouted Malfoy suddenly, though his voice sounded unnaturally shaky. "Just... Just wait here."

Suddenly the world came spinning back and slammed into Hermione's head. She glanced around frantically for a hiding place, then dove behind a fallen trash-barrel just as Malfoy rounded the corner. He walked to the end of the alley before pulling something out from the back of his hood and attaching it to his face; it was a white skull mask.

Hermione gasped as he rounded the corner. Harry had been right; Malfoy was branded, and he had the entire Death-Eater garb along with it. There was no turning back for him now. He was gone.

But her thoughts were interrupted as she was jerked to her feet by the back of her hair and spun around to face a greasy, grinning face.

"And now," said Snape, "you will die."

Hermione screamed, but no words came from her mouth. She struggled for her wand, but realized Snape had already bound her arms. Her heart pulsed and pounded into her ribcage. It couldn't end here, not without making up with Harry, not without saying goodbye to Ron and Ginny and Mrs. Weasley and Fleur and Bill and Charlie and... she delivered a swift kick to Snape's shin.

It took all of two seconds for Hermione to realize she was free, and she bolted down the alley with her arms still bound to her side. She was a mere meter from the end when a tall, dark figure rounded the corner with his wand drawn.

"What?" asked Malfoy stupidly, his voice muffled through his Death-Eater mask. "What're you doing here?"

"Stop her!" shouted Snape from the back of the alley.

Malfoy hesitantly raised his wand, but not before Hermione crashed headfirst into his sternum, sending him sprawling into the center of the street.

Hermione lay in a daze on the cobblestone. The world was spinning in mad circles, back and forth, up and down. It was a minute before she finally came around, and she was very displeased to find a knobby knee shoved into her neck. She tried to wrest it off with her arms, but they were still bound to her side. She tried jerking her head, rolling over, kicking, screaming, but they all failed. Her breath was steadily decreasing and she felt a slow pounding in the back of her head.

"You will die, Mudblood," hissed a voice in Hermione's ear. "And you won't have any hero to save you."

It was true; Harry was gone. She had finally come to realize it, and only moments before her death, which was coming as swiftly as an eagle in flight. It only had to tighten its talons in her shoulders. But it never came.

Snape's knee lifted and Hermione felt a gush of cold air rush into her lungs. She jerked forward and coughed into her hand. It came out as thick, running blood. And just for a short glimpse as she looked up, before everything went black, she saw a tall man with a flaming wand jump over her body, and she felt a tingling sensation as his sparkling green aura passed over her skin.

It felt like someone had smashed her over the head with a heavy rock. She could feel her swollen neck and chin hanging off her face like water-filled balloons. Her head wouldn't turn in the slightest way, and her arms and legs were tightly bound to her sides by an invisible force. Only the stone ceiling and warm white sheets comforted Hermione, as she knew the place quite well. She was in the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And suddenly she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, two men standing beside her bed with worried looks plastered all over their faces. A warm rush filled Hermione's throat as she recognized the figure closest to her bed. With his mop of messy black hair and radiant green eyes he could be none other than...

"Harry!" shouted Hermione through her swollen lip.

Harry's face lit up like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky. He was standing with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall and eeking comfort and contentedness like no one Hermione had ever seen. If someone had found himself during this summer, it had to have been Harry. He made to come to Hermione's bedside, but a shrill shout from across the room stopped him in his tracks.

Madam Pomfrey bustled across the room carrying a tray of nasty looking potions.

"Out, out!" she shouted. "She needs room and rest."

In all honesty, Hermione was ticked off. But Harry thought otherwise, as he bent over, mouthing "See you tonight," and then turned around, leading a distraught looking Ron Weasley out of the room.

It was going to be a long day.

As Hermione sat in her hospital bed waiting for the swelling to go down, she mulled over what had happened. All she could remember was running into Malfoy and crashing into the street. There was a blank spot after that, which was followed immediately by her waking up in the Hospital Wing.

Then there was Harry. Despite all she had expected, all she had told herself, he had come to Hogwarts. He didn't get mauled, maimed, mutilated or beaten. In fact, he appeared to have done just the opposite: he was rejuvenated and invigorated. That was just a little scary.

Hermione gulped the last of her anti-swelling potion and swung her legs off the bed. Madam Pomfrey said she could go when she was done, and she was done, so she hopped to her feet, felt a dizzy sensation overcome here, and fell back onto the bed. Her second attempt was more successful; she slowly stood on her feet and steadied herself with the bedpost, then, once she had regained her balance, took off for the Gryffindor Common Room.

When she reached the portrait-hole, she was anxious enough to jump right through it. She glanced frantically around, but no one was near, and cursed herself for not thinking to ask Harry or Ron for the password.

"Hello," whispered a voice behind Hermione, causing her to spin around.

"Who is it?" shrieked Hermione into the darkness.

A voice from just over her left shoulder said with much amusement, "Why it's me, Harry Potter."

In one smooth motion, Hermione whirled around and pulled Harry into a crushing hug.

"Harry!" she screamed. "You're here!"

Harry gurgled some inarticulate response about "air," and Hermione pulled back. He gasped for breath and held a hand to his neck.

"Merlin, Hermione, it's good to see you," said Harry, coughing. "Bumbleweed."

"What?" asked Hermione.

The portrait swung open and Harry jumped through it, dragging Hermione by her hand. They entered the Common Room, which was more or less empty, besides a few stragglers who had already begun pre-reading their course material and Ron, who was laying contentedly on his back in front of the fire, sprawled out like a lion basking in the sun. Harry brought Hermione to the couch behind Ron and motioned for her to sit. She did, then jumped back up and tackled Harry in another bone-crushing hug.

Harry gasped and coughed and wheezed until he tripped over Ron and fell into a tangle on the couch with Hermione.

"Glad to see me?" asked Harry, clearly amused.

Ron was apparently over the excitement already as he grumbled something about rest and injustice and rolled over, trying to fall back to sleep.

"Where have you been?" shouted Hermione suddenly. "You scared everyone half to _death!_ How could you _do_ that?"

If Harry was surprised earlier, it was nothing compared to his reaction now. He rolled off the couch and jumped to his feet.

"You know why," he whispered as a cold look crossed his face. "And I swear I'll kill him next time, the fool."

Hermione nearly cowered in fear at the look of malice and loathing on Harry's face. She knew then that something terrible had happened to him over the summer, something horrible. His eyes were creased into a line and the corners of his mouth curved into an angry grimace. The air around him glowed green and Hermione could swear that she heard a crackling sound as he turned.

Then everything came back to her. She was hoisted into the air by her hair, lying in the street, a knee pressed to her neck. And then she realized, with her brilliant calculating mind, that Harry had saved her life from Severus Snape and had just vowed to kill him.

"H-Harry?" asked Hermione in a whisper. "It was you, wasn't it? You saved my life."

Harry turned away. "You shouldn't have gone out alone."

"But it was you, wasn't it?" asked Hermione.

With a deep sigh, Harry deflated back to normal and turned around, sitting on the couch next to Hermione. He stared into her eyes with a blank expression. He had definitely changed.

"Yes, it was me, and I pray I'll never have to do anything like that again. I thought you had died... and it would have been my fault. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"No!" shouted Hermione. "Don't blame yourself! It had _nothing_ to do with you at all."

Harry merely shook his head. "But it did, Hermione, in more ways than you could ever know."

"Don't you _dare_ blame yourself," hissed Hermione. "It wasn't your fault. And," she said before Harry could respond, "I'd rather like to hear what you've been doing this summer."

A confused look crossed Harry's face for a moment, then he sighed and laid back into the couch. "There are only four left," Harry said.

Hermione gasped. "You found it and destroyed it? How did you? Are you_ sure _it's gone?"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Harry. "Though I don't know how Dumbledore saved the ring. Mine is in about six-thousand pieces and sitting in the stomach of a Dementor."

_Of course_, shouted Hermione's mind at herself. _A soul eating machine, it makes so much sense. Why didn't I think of it?_ _More importantly, how did Harry do it?_

"And?" pushed Hermione. "How did you do it?"

But something like a sheet of ice had pulled itself over Harry's face, under his skin. His gaze became stern and cold, and his face hardened like an orb of Adamantium. He was on his feet and walking across the room before Hermione's reflexes kicked in and she jumped up to follow him.

"No!" she shouted. "You're not leaving again, I won't let you. You're sleeping _right here_," -- she gestured towards the couch -- "and I'm sleeping _right there_" -- she gestured towards the love-seat -- "and if you so much as flinch I'll tie you up and hex you and shove a Dreamless Sleep Potion down your throat."

Harry stopped. For a moment, Hermione stood in anticipation, then her blood froze as the room was filled with an electrically charged, but flowing and smooth voice. "And how would you do that if I'm already gone?"

And suddenly there was a flash, a trick of the light, or so thought Hermione, and she realized that Harry was nowhere to be seen. He had just vanished, as he had said, from under their very nose. But more shockingly, he had done it under the protections and wards of Hogwarts, breaking every law of magic and every rule in every book Hermione had ever read.

Hermione spun around - she had to stay calm. She knew he hadn't Apparated; that was impossible. He was in the room - the portrait was shut, so he couldn't have left through it. Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked towards the exit, keeping her eyes trained on the portrait. She pulled her wand out and aimed it at the edge of the door. It opened.

Two words jumped into Hermione's mind: _Petrificus Totalus_. The usual flash of light that followed didn't appear. Instead, there was a loud thump as Harry, who was now visible, fell against the wall, stiff as a board.

"I told you," snapped Hermione. "You won't leave again."

As Hermione approached Harry's still body, his eyes flashed open and glared at her. He was trying to move his mouth, but it was glued shut by the body-bind.

A cold feeling washed over Hermione. The look on Harry's face was not angry or mad or anything of the sort. No, it was blank, unmoving, calculating. _Like a Slytherin_, thought Hermione.

She shuddered. "I think it's time for bed."


	2. Magic's Calling

**A Drop of Venom**

**by hpotter225**

**Chapter 2: Magic's Calling**

Something bright and hot awakened Hermione. She fluttered her eyes open and put her hand up to block the light.

"Looks like she's finally awake," said Ron who, with a flick of his wand, sucked a shining orb into his wand. He was grinning.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" asked Hermione.

"I don't really know," said Ron thoughtfully. "Harry's been teaching me some of the spells he learned this summer. I won't complain..."

"He what?" said Hermione loudly. "Where is he?"

She jumped up and saw that the couch where Harry had been sleeping was empty. _Dang, dang, dang, dang,_ thought Hermione.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron. "He's down at breakfast." He cocked an eyebrow and looked oddly at Hermione.

"Come on, then!" shouted Hermione as she bolted for the door. "He's going to leave again!"

"What?" asked Ron stupidly as they sprinted to the Great Hall.

Hermione's face was flushed with anger as she shoved the doors open. She quickly scanned the room and spotted Harry sitting at the far corner of the Gryffindor table, eating peacefully and staring at the enchanted ceiling like there was nothing wrong in the world.

"Harry!" said Hermione as she slid into the seat beside him. "Look, I'm sorry about last night, I--"

Harry put a hand up. He finished chewing his eggs, swallowed, shut his eyes, as if to savor the taste, and said, "You have nothing to apologize about. I shouldn't have acted that way. I got caught up - a bit defensive. It's just - well - I'll explain later."

Hermione was about to demand that he explained now, but she stopped, knowing that it would only spark another fit of rage. Instead she calmed herself and grabbed a piece of toast.

"When are you going to teach me some more charms?" asked Ron, who had just seated himself comfortably in front of a mound of scrambled eggs. "That Dvoretsky's Globe Charm is bloody brilliant."

"Ronald!" snapped Hermione. "Language. And what is this about training?"

She leaned towards Harry, bubbling with interest. He raised both eyebrows and smirked. "Well it's about time you two learned how to dual," he said.

Hermione felt her spine tingle from top to bottom. Her entire body felt the the surge of power emmanate from Harry's body as a grin lit upon his face. It engulfed her body and hovered gently over her skin. Like a rushing wind it blew around her hair and raised tiny goose-bumps on her arm. Then, with a barely audible whoosh, it sucked itself back into Harry's body.

"What was that?" Hermione heard herself ask out loud. She covered her mouth quickly with her hand. "I mean " - Harry was looking at her oddly, and Ron was staring at her with a raised eyebrow - "when do we start?"

"I think you should be more worried about Charms," said Harry with amusement dancing in his eyes.

Hermione glanced at her watch and gasped. "Oh no! We're going to be late!"

And with that, the three rushed to their first class.

Professor Flitwick was bouncing around in the center of the room, demonstrating some advanced spells they would be learning. He nodded to Harry as they entered and took a seat near the back. Harry grinned back and waved.

"Everyone's here?" asked Flitwick excitedly. "We have much to do, much to do. Everyone open your textbook to page 27 on the section about the Alekhine Hexes."

A gasp went through the crowd and the chatter stopped abruptly. Every student in the room was staring, shocked, at the professor - every student except for Harry, who was leaning back against the wall with an uninterested look all over his face.

"I see some of you have heard of these Hexes," said Flitwick with a grin. "And needless to say you've got some idea of what they do, yes?"

"Isn't that Dark Magic, professor?" asked Seamus Finnigan from across the room.

"Dark and Light magic lay on a fine line, Mister Finnigan. I would say these sit in the center somewhere. They are by no means Dark, but they might be used for Dark purposes. In fact, Albus Dumbledore used some in the Department of Mysteries only two years ago, and he was adamantly against the use of any Dark magic. I believe that if Dumbledore deemed it useful to use, then it is certainly useful for you to learn. Now, if everyone is quite done, you may flip to page 27 and pair up with a partner."

A murmer and the sound of pages turning went through the room. Hermione turned to Harry and grabbed his shoulder. She glared at Ron, signaling for him to let her handle it, and he backed away, nodding.

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione as she opened her own book. "Let's practice."

It took a few seconds for Harry to react, as he was staring off into space. He turned his head. "Oh, yes, of course," he said. "Practice. What are we doing again?"

"The Alekhine Hexes," said Hermione smartly.

"Okay," said Harry, looking slightly bored again. "Which one first?"

"What do you mean, which one?" asked Hermione. "How do you know about the Alekhine Hexes?"

"I learned a few over the summer. They were invented by Alexander Alekhine, who was apparently my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather's best friend." He shrugged. "They're kind of useful, I guess."

This confirmed Hermione's hypothesis that Harry had been training immensely during the summer. And, she noted with pride, he had been reading - he had studied his ancestry. She was, however, still quite confused as to how he had learned so much in only three months.

The loud, squeaking voice of Professor Flitwick sounded from the center of the room. "Attention, everyone, attention!" he said excitedly. "We will start from the first hex and learn one new one every two weeks. You will have no written homework until after Christmas, only physical practicing. Now, everyone move across from their partner and begin."

The class hustled quickly into position and started waving their wands in the air, trying to learn the complex wand movement written on the first page. However, Hermione was watching Harry, who suddenly looked pale and sickly. He took a step backward.

"I can't do this," said Harry quietly.

"Why not?" demanded Hermione.

"I-I just can't. You can practice on me, if you'd like."

Hermione scrunched her brow together. She couldn't think of any reason why he would refuse to perform the hex. It merely calmed everyone in the room. She had assumed they would start with this hex, as it was used by most powerful wizards when making an entrance, and was quite easy to learn, but took a great deal of power to perform. The more power put into the spell, the more potent the calming sensation.

She decided not to argue. "Very well," she said with a great deal of annoyance in her voice. "_Serenitus Potentia." _

Suddenly Hermione felt a wave of magic pour from her body. It was draining quickly, feeding an orb of magic that was growing increasingly fast around her body. Outward it went, spinning and twisting and roaring with energy like a great angry lion. She collapsed onto her knees and felt the magic sing with happiness and run one last joyful lap around the room before it sucked back into her body.

A voice called out through Hermione's throbbing headache. "Excellent, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor!"

Hermione's head was reeling. The world was spinning in circles, round and round. Something gurgled in her throat and she fell forward onto her hands. Her body screamed in pain; her magic went on a rampage to release itself, to roam freely again, but she held it inside and staggered to her feet.

A warm hand touched her shoulder and Hermione looked up to see Harry looking down at her with a grim expression. She stared into his eyes and she knew that he had done the same when he first tried the spell. That was why he didn't want to do it again, reasoned Hermione. It was too painful.

Hermione looked around at the stunned faces of everyone in the room. Padma and Parvati were staring wide-eyed and had apparently dropped their wands. They were no better than Dean and Seamus, who had fallen into eachother and were laying in a daze on the floor.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, snapping everyone out of their trance. "That was bloody brilliant!"

"Language," clucked Hermione, who was feeling slightly better and much less dizzy.

After a short congratulations, Professor Flitwick dismissed the class and Hermione led the way down the hall ahead of an ecstatic Ron and a gloomy Harry. They stopped just outside of the Potions dungeon.

Hermione watched Harry's facial expression change from blank to blank, and again, from blank to blank again. He turned to face her.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked quietly.

"No, not much," responded Hermione in a whisper. "Have you tried it twice?"

Harry's eyes slanted and he paused, as if thinking, and said, after much apparent deliberation, "How very Slytherin of you." He pushed his way through the large wooden doors into the Potions dungeon.

The three took seats near the back of the classroom, much to Hermione's annoyance. She had tried for six years to get them to move to the front, but they had insisted on sitting in the back to talk. It was a wonder that they learned anything in class. _Well_, thought Hermione smugly,_ they do have me_.

Hermione looked up as the Professor's door pushed open, half expecting to see Snape and his billowing robes emerge from the crooked frame, and watched Professor Slughorn whisk into the room in an aristocrating manner.

"Hello, hello everyone," he said merrily, pausing for just a moment before he pulled a small vial from his pocket. "I'm sure you are expecting _grueling _and_ difficult _work this year, and you're cringing and shaking in anticipation of your first assignment." He stopped and gazed slowly around the room. "Well, you are correct if you thought that. And if you didn't think that, then you are either stupid or dim.

"No written assignments will be given today - you can put your quill away Miss Granger." Hermione felt her cheeks turn pink as she shoved her quill back into her bag. "Today will be a demonstration. And, as I am sure you have all heard by now, it appears Mister Potter followed slightly different instructions last year than the rest of the class and, as my quaint and refined little ears have heard in the hallways, doesn't deserve the rewards he received." He walked over in front of Harry's cauldron. "Today he will be demonstrating for us."

Harry didn't need another telling; he stood up and walked to the front of the classroom in silence. This was the first time Hermione had ever seen Professor Slughorn lose his cool.

"Now, the ingredients are in the store cupboard, Mister Potter. You have an hour to make the Elixer of Eternal Fire. Begin," said Professor Slughorn, sitting smugly in a chair near the back wall.

Harry moved like a machine. In one smooth motion he walked to the cupboard, pulled open the doors, and grabbed every ingredient he needed, which, as Hermione knew ever-so-well, was no easy task, seeing as the Potion consisted of twelve types of weed, the tip of a Unicorn's horn, the black edge of the Dragon Moth's wing, and a various assortment of alligator teeth. Harry dumped them on the table and began to dissect the wing.

For an hour the class sat in silence, watching as Harry robotically added ingredients and stirred, cut and stirred, sniffed and stirred, all the while keeping one eye trained on Slughorn. Harry gave the Potion one last turn, and, just as Slughorn leapt from his seat with a look of triump plastered on his face, dropped the last alligator tooth into the Potion.

"Time up!" shouted Slughorn. "Let's test your work." He grabbed an empty vial from his desk and dipped it into the Potion, coming up with a pure purple substance and analyzing it in the lamp-light. He suddenly appeared very disappointed.

"I will analyze this Potion tonight, Mister Potter. Class is dismissed."

At lunch, after their Transfiguration class, Ron nearly exploded with the very question Hermione had been dying to ask.

"What the bloody hell was that in Potions? When did you become a Potions master?" shouted Ron above the excited din of first-day-of-school students.

A grin played at the corner of Harry's lips and he sipped his soup like nothing had happened. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about," he said dryly.

"Don't give me that dung; you know exactly what I'm talking about. How did you know all of those ingredients, and how did you manage to make the Elixer of Flaming Infinite, or whatever it was, perfectly? - and I know it was perfect."

"It's The Elixer of Eternal Fire, Ron, and we learned about it in our fifth year, don't you remember?" said Harry like a parent scolding a small child.

"Yes, I remember," said Hermione. "Professor Snape mentioned it in his opening speech when he was scaring us into dropping the class. How _did_ you do that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Harry again as he finished sipping the last of his soup. "Why are you two acting so oddly?"

Ron, who had been close to exploding earlier, blew his top. "What are you talking about? You leave for three months and come sauntering back in these flashy, black robes, save Hermione's life, turn yourself invisible without a wand, stare down a professor without flinching, make a perfect, flawless, complex Potion without looking at a book, and you ask us why _we're_ acting oddly?"

The calm look that had been on Harry's face since he had arrived, not counting his one abaration in the common room, didn't waver. Instead, Harry pushed his bowl away and stood. "You know why I left and you know that I trained. What else is there for me to tell you?"

"How about what you studied, how you studied? We want to know that, too!"

"And you will," said Harry, "tonight. And until then, you'll just have to wait."

Hermione sighed. If Harry wanted to wait six more hours, then by all means, she would let him wait six more hours - it was all the same to her. What was six hours compared to three months? _Nothing_, came Hermione's answer. _Nothing at all_. She leaned forward and poured herself a bowl of soup.

The day flew by quickly. Their last class, Herbology, was only an hour long, and Hermione, Ron and Harry had spent the rest of the afternoon at the lake, talking about their summer - well, as much as Harry would let out. At six o' clock, they headed up to the castle and Hermione folded her arms as Harry began to get ready for bed.

"Ahem," she said loudly.

Harry looked up. "Don't worry," he said. "I haven't forgotten. I'm just searching for my map." He pulled the Marauders Map out of his trunk and walked through the portrait hole.

Hermione and Ron followed close behind, following him to the Room of Requirements, where Harry paced back and forth, mumbling something under his breath. A door appeared in the wall and the three walked through it.

The room was large and round. In the center of the hardwood floor was an enormous, red rug. There was paint where there should have been windows. The walls appeared to be padded - at least a foot thick, surmised Hermione.

Harry walked to the center of the room and, pulling his wand out, conjured two plushy armchairs.

"Where did you learn that?" asked Hermione as she walked to one of the chairs and pushed on the seat with her hand.

"From a Transfiguration book," said Harry blandly. "You can sit on it. It's not going to attack you."

Ron had already sat down and was waving his wand in small circles. "Like this?" he asked. "What's the incantation?"

"No, it's more of a flick, and the incantation is _Creo Lushier_," said Harry. He conjured another chair.

"Brilliant," sputtered Ron. "_Creo Lushier_." Nothing happened. "It didn't work," said Ron sadly.

"Of course it didn't," said Hermione. "Conjuration is very advanced magic. That Harry can even do it is - well - stunning. Most grown wizards can only manage to conjure a needle, or a button.

"Anyways, Harry, now that we're here, you promised you'd tell us all about your summer. What happened, then? How did you train? Where did you go?"

"I never said I'd tell you everything," Harry protested. "But I destroyed one of" - Harry paused and raised his wand into the air. A blue light burst from the end and struck the ceiling. A web of electric-blue lines weaved through unseen channels in the walls and, once it met on the floor, disappeared in a flash. "I destroyed one of the Horcruxes - Hufflepuff's goblet. It was buried in channels deep beneath Azkaban."

Hermione gasped. "And how did you manage to find that out? How did you get to it?"

A grimace crossed Harry's face. "I followed a Dementor," he said quietly.

"What!" shouted Hermione, leaping from her seat. "Are you mad?"

Ron was quite pale. "Bloody hell - literally. Why in Merlin's name did you do that?"

"Because," said Harry slowly. "I was following Snape."

"What!" shouted Hermione again. "You are mad! And what was Snape doing there?"

"Freeing his fellow Death-Eaters," spat Harry. "Though I don't think Dolohov will be of much use for the Dark-Lord; I banished his ribcage."

Hermione felt like throwing up. "You what?" she gasped. "Why?"

"Because I could," said Harry. "No Death-Eater deserves to live."

"You're no better than them!" hissed Hermione. "I can't believe you would do such a thing."

The calmness on Harry's face vanished and his eyebrows curved angrily. "And what would you have done if Dolohov had stuck your shoulders to a wall with silver daggers? Cast a tickling charm?"

"S-Silver?" muttered Hermione. She saw a brief image of Harry stuck to a wall with Dolohov taunting him. She gagged. "T-The scars, then?"

"Right here," said Harry, pulling back the right sleeve on his shirt. A thick red line ran down the thick of his shoulder. He spread the sleeve back.

"O-Oh dear," said Hermione shakily. "That's horrible. W-Where did you go this summer?" She desperately tried to change the subject, and Harry obliged.

"Everywhere," said Harry. "To Australia, North America, South America, Asia - everywhere."

"And what will you do now? Do you plan to stay at school?" asked Hermione fervently; the gruesome picture was still at the front of her mind.

Harry looked at her long and hard. "No," he said. "I plan to leave."

Something like a firework exploded in Hermione's stomach. Beside her, Ron jumped up in protest.

"And you're taking us with you this time!" shouted Ron.

A grim look fell about Harry's eyes, but his face did not show it. His hand, Hermione noted, dropped down next to his wand. "You can't... I've become much more powerful this summer, more than anyone could have imagined, but it's not enough to defeat Voldemort. I need to go back to America and continue my studies. There is a school there, a magical college that teaches the seperate branches of magic extensively. I plan to attend, if I can pass the entrance exam, and obtain a mastery of mind and body magic throughout the next year."

The room went silent. Harry was staring at Ron and Hermione; she thought he had gone mad. Hogwarts was the best school in the world; why would he go somewhere else? She planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head, as she always did when she was annoyed.

"And what makes that school better than Hogwarts?"

"They don't believe in Light and Dark magic, for one," said Harry with a bit of malice in his voice. "They aren't biased against Werewolves or Elves or Vampires or people with funny looking scars. Their teachers follow a curriculum, they don't just teach random nonsense like all but two of our previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors. They--"

"But Hogwarts is the highest ranked school in the country! There is so much more you can learn here," protested Hermione.

"Look," said Harry angrily. "I'm not going to argue with you about what school is best or what I'm going to do. I'll teach you some of what I've learned and I'll show you some of my new magic. But I'm not going to stay here and learn some _toddler_ Alekhine Hexes while I could be learning something useful."

"What do you mean, _toddler Alekhine Hexes_?" shouted Hermione. "They're ranked ten in the most powerful hexes by the Ministry of Magic."

"By the _Ministry of Magic_," hissed Harry. "Don't you get it? Everything you've read, everything you've heard, everything you've seen pertains to Britain. Haven't you ever asked about other wizarding settlements? Everyone says that there are only a few left, scattered all over Britan. Do you honestly think there are no other wizarding villages in the world? Hermione, we've lived in a box. There's so much more out there to learn, to see, and we've been twiddling our fingers on this God-forsaken island, hoping that some day we'll miraculously find some hidden power to defeat Voldemort. Well I'm not hoping any more. I'm studying, learning, taking action, and I'm going to kill him, and then I'm going to move away - far away - from this place, and I'll never look back."

Hermione and Ron were frozen in their places, stunned. Everything Harry had said was so wrong, yet so true. Why hadn't anyone ever mentioned wizards outside of Britain? Were they non-existant? But they had to exist, thought Hermione, or else Harry wouldn't be talking about them; he hadn't gone that mad - yet. The revelation was astonishing.

No words came to Hermione's mouth. Instead, she stood, much like Ron, but without her mouth hanging open.

"Harry that's -" started Hermione.

"Bloody insane!" shouted Ron. "Hogwarts is the best school in the world, not just in Britain. It's better than Durmstrang and Beauxbattons and any other Wizarding school. I won't let you stand there and defile my country - it's lunacy, I tell you."

But there was something wrong, Hermione thought, something dreadfully wrong. She could see where Ron was coming from; he had been born in Britain, raised in Britain, taught in Britain - so had she. On the other hand, she also saw where Harry was coming from, and it seemed much more logical. Obviously he had been training and searching around the world. He had met other Wizards and Witches during his travels, and had realized that there was more to the world than a little island in Europe. It made Hermione feel like a small speck of dust.

"No Ron," whispered Hermione. "He does have a point."

"What do you mean he has a point?" roared Ron, rounding on Hermione. "He's bloody mad I tell you. All this traveling has messed up his head."

Behind Ron, Hermione could see Harry staring blankly at the floor. He, too, appeared to be struggling with that same idea, surmised Hermione from the look on his face. But he wasn't mad, thought Hermione. He was far from it.

"Ron, think about it for just a minute. There has to be more Wiza-"

"You too?" shouted Ron angrily. "He's poisoned your mind. He's learned Legilimency, that's it. Take it off of her or I swear I'll kill you!" He rounded on Harry with his wand drawn.

"He hasn't done anything to me!" screamed Hermione. "You're acting like an infant!"

"You don't know what you're saying," said Ron, his eyes unmoving from Harry's blank face. "He's got you under some spell."

"No he hasn't," said Hermione. "Put your wand down, Ron."

"Not until he takes the-"

And Hermione saw something pass under Harry's eyes. His head snapped upwards and in a blur his wand was drawn and shoved into Ron's neck.

Harry's body was tensed, charged for action. His feet were planted. His arm was straight, level with his outstretched wand. His bicep was taught. His jaw was set. His teeth were clenched. His eyes were blue.

His eyes were blue.

They were humming and dancing like shining orbs of electricity. They were fixed, focused and determined. There was no fire behind them, no twinkling about them. They were simply cold and blazing and very, very blue.

A clap of thunder exploded from the center of the room. Hermione watched in horror as Ron was hurled backwards into the wall and his limbs were splayed like a crushed spider. He slumped to the floor and fell on his face with a dull thud.

"No!" screamed Hermione, sprinting to Ron's side. She grabbed his wrist and felt his pulse; it was beating, however gently, but it _was_ beating.

"He's not dead," Harry said coldly as he swept past Hermione to the door. "He has a broken spine and a cut on his neck, but he'll live."

His eyes connected with Hermione's once more before he exited the room and she was relieved to see that they were green again. But his last words sent a chill through her body.

"_I planned it that way_."

The door slammed shut behind him.

To my reviewers:

Chapter three is written, so I will at least get that far. This time I have a beta, which I hope will keep me on track.

If you like it, I'll write it.

Thank you for reviewing.

The third chapter will be up soon.

Steve


	3. The Day of Reckoning

**Chapter 3: The Day of Reckoning**

Hermione had dropped Ron off in the Hospital Wing and raced after Harry, who had left through the front doors. She had followed him up the path to Hogsmeade, all the way to the very outskirts, atop the hill that led down to the Shrieking Shack, in a little green valley which was scattered with soggy leaves.

She held her breath and watched as Harry pulled a chain from under his cloak. He fumbled with the necklace for a moment, but she couldn't see what he was holding because his back was to her.

The wind was gently brushing through the trees and the sun was settling over the mountains in the distance. The trees were dark, casting long shadows over the mossy forest ground. There was a small spider crawling on the ground near Harry's foot.

Harry sat with his back against a rock. He stretched out and placed his glasses beside him. He looked up into the sky, and so did Hermione. It was daunting, glowing a deep orange, pure and clean, ancient and wise. Through war and peace, through trial and pain, it had stood unscathed, untouched by the battles, un-scarred by injustice.

"This is magic," whispered Harry. "This is true magic."

Hermione stood in shock. Was he talking to her?

"Can't you feel it in the air? It's everywhere around us, urging us to call on it - and I want to do it, my body yearns to grab it, but I can't, not yet. There's too much to control. It's too powerful to be commanded by me, a mere mortal. In time I'll use it, but not now. I need training first," said Harry. He stood up and brushed some dirt off the back of his robes.

"And when will you leave?" asked Hermione quietly, stepping out from behind her hiding spot behind a tree.

Harry looked up. "Right now," he said.

"Are you going to let me and Ron go with you?" asked Hermione.

A long pause followed.

"Not Ron, no, he won't handle it well. You can come if you'd like, but I have to warn you; it will be tough. This school I was telling you about, it's renowned as being the most rigorous, violent magical school in the world. They're obsessed with power; they crave it, seek it, capture it." Harry chuckled. "Their entrance exam - it's a test; simple, really. You just have to make it into the building."

"W-what?" asked Hermione. Harry was beginning to scare her. He was talking without looking at her, speaking into the wind. Something was glittering in his eyes. His hands were glowing.

"The doors have no magical signature. There is no trace of magic on the school. It's just a brick building. But there's something else that's entwined within the structure, deep and powerful, that binds anyone who attempts to enter it."

Hermione paused. "Why do you want to go there? It sounds like a terrible place. Why can't you just stay here and learn? It's so much simpler, and you don't have to hurt Ron."

"But it-it just doesn't work that way," said Harry. "I have to do this. This school offers so much more than I can get here. And," said Harry, pausing, "maybe I'll learn better when I'm not treated like a celebrity."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're leaving Ron behind. He's been loyal to you for six years. He's your best friend. How can you just leave him behind?" accused Hermione.

"Because my life doesn't have room for friends," said Harry, pulling his cloak up about his shoulders.

They began walking down the path to the Shrieking Shack and stopped at the boarded front door. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and turned to look at her.

"Do you want to come?" asked Harry.

Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't expected Harry to let her come so easily. She had planned to track his magical signature, something she had read over the summer, and follow him. But his question shocked her.

"I-I-I," stuttered Hermione.

She felt quite silly. Here she was, after all of her planning, being asked to go with Harry, and she didn't know what to do.

She sighed and shook her head at the ground. "Of course I'll go."

And then Harry grinned wildly, his face lighting up, sparked with adventure. A thousand steeds raced through his eyes as he looked up into the sky, his hair suddenly fluttering in the wind.

With a quiet whooshing sound they were sucked into a black rubber tube.

A blinding light burned Hermione's eyes. She let go of Harry's hand and covered her face. Harry steadied her as she was about to fall over.

"Thanks," said Hermione, feeling slightly dizzy. "Where are we?"

"Iowa," said Harry. "Not much to look at, but we won't be here long."

Hermione squinted and lifted her hand from her face. Sure enough, they were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a massive asphalt cross-road stamped into the middle of a sandy desert. She looked down one road and wondered if it ever ended.

"It's huge," said Hermione. "Does anyone live around here?"

"Well, there are some Muggles about thirty kilometers down the southern road, and a family of rabbits about ten feet to your left who are quite interested in your socks."

Hermione whirled around, sending a pack of small, brown rabbits scattering down the road.

"Other than that, no, there isn't anyone else around here. There is a Portkey, though, over on that fence."

"And where will that take us?" asked Hermione, shading her eyes with her hand and looking over at the fence where Harry was pointing.

"To the pub outside the school. From there we have to hike to the school, then we have to find a way into the school. I can take you back if you want," offered Harry.

"No," said Hermione sternly. "I'm going with you. Tell me more about this school."

"For one, I have no idea where it is. I think it's unplottable. The only way to get there is from a few Portkeys scattered around the world. The only way to get out is by a Portkey in the pub and in the school.

"It's located in the middle a mountain range, and it's on an island in the center of a lake. There are hundreds of animals in the forest near the edge of the lake: Centaurs, Griffins, Kneazles, Acromantula, you name it. Some of them haven't even been recorded."

Hermione's eyes widened. "That sounds like the most crazy and dangerous place I have ever heard of."

"You can go-"

"I'm going with you, Harry. Do you think I'd just leave you to face all of that alone? Not a chance."

Harry blinked. He pulled his hood up over his head. "Then let's not waste any time," he said. "Hold on tight." With a wave of his hand, Harry summoned a walking-stick that was leaning against the fence on the far side of the road and shoved it into Hermine's grasp.

With a familiar spinning sensation and a hard jerk behind her naval, Hermione rocketed into the sky.

They were greeted by a sing-song choir of "Hello"'s from a rowdy bunch of teenagers sitting around a table. Hermione slipped and fell backwards - directly into a chair. She looked up and saw Harry grinning as he turned the chair around and pushed it under a table.

"What would you like to drink?" he asked.

There was something about Harry's face that made Hermione smile. She couldn't help herself; he was so happy, yet so frail, and was grinning like a mad schoolboy. Here he was, Harry Potter, the most powerful Wizard in the world, offering her a drink. It was enough to make anyone smile.

"I'll have a butterbeer," Hermione replied.

"As you wish," said Harry. With a comical bow he swept away to the bar.

Hermione shook her head and turned to the table. She was slightly shocked to see a man sitting across from her, staring back with his chin resting on his palm as he leaned his elbow into the table.

"Hello," said the man.

He had dark hair, jet-black like Harry's, and his cloak looked like a sowed-up portion of the night sky. His face was pale white and his eyes were gray like lead, with dark spots around the center. He smiled, revealing four small, pointed fangs on either side of his mouth.

"What brings you to Tumier Halle, School of the Damned?" asked the man.

"Fate," said Hermione simply. "I'm Hermione Granger, you are?" She extended her hand.

"Laszlo Barczay," he said, shaking her hand. "And I might say I'm here for the same reason."

A tray of bottles settled on the table and Hermione looked up to see Harry sliding into the seat beside her.

"Harry Burkhard," said Harry, reaching out his hand - his left hand. The man looked down at it oddly, then shook it.

"You are with her?" asked Laszlo.

"Yes, I am," said Harry, raising his drink to his lips and drinking deeply. "And if you even think of drinking her blood, I'll slit your eyes with a crucifix."

Laszlo's eyes widened and he withdrew his hand quickly. A crooked grin crossed his face and his eyes thinned into slits. "I'll remember that," he said quietly. He stood up and stepped backwards into the shadows, vanishing as Hermione blinked. His voice echoed out of the darkness. "We'll meet again."

"What was that?" asked Hermione. "Was he a vampire?"

"Yes," said Harry bitterly. "And he had his eyes on you like he hadn't eaten in months. That's disgusting."

"How do you know? I think he was just being friendly."

"Because he was using a glamour charm to hide the blood dripping off of his teeth," said Harry.

"That's disgusting," said Hermione, taking a sip of her Butterbeer. "Do you actually carry a crucifix on you?"

Harry reached for his cloak and pulled out a small cross, sharp on all ends and gleaming unnaturally in the dim lamplight. "Made out of silver," he explained. "I carry ten of them. They're charmed to come back to me, just in case I run into any large packs of Werewolves or Vampires."

"And you really think you need all of this protection?" asked Hermione.

"You can never be too safe," said Harry coldly.

"Constant vigilance," muttered Hermione, smirking. She sipped down the last of her drink. "What are we doing next?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Going for a hike," he said as he pulled a long walking stick out of his robes and handed it to Hermione. "You've got five minutes to get ready. I'm going to get a shot of Firewhiskey. Don't get into any trouble."

"Harry!" protested Hermione. "Do you _really_ think that's appropriate?"

He had already left and was talking with the barkeeper. She watched in disbelief as Harry downed two small glasses of Firewhiskey. He stumbled back to the table and started coughing.

"Great dring," he said. "Alright, lez go."

Hermione followed Harry as he stumbled out the door and down a dirt path that wound into the dark forest ahead of them.

They had walked not a hundred feet when Hermione grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pushed him against a tree.

"You're not walking another step until your sober," hissed Hermione. "I'll not have you eaten by some Yeti because you're drunk on Firewhiskey."

"Lay off," snapped Harry. "It lonley lazt a cuble minuzs. I been practizen to throw et off. You watch. It'll be gone zoon."

"No," said Hermione simply. "Not until you're sober."

"What's this?" asked a quiet voice from the shadows. "Stuck after only a few steps? I suspected as much from our conversation - Burkhard, is it? You should both turn back."

A thin form suddenly appeared beside Hermione. It was Lazslo, and this time he was doing nothing to hide his dripping teeth. He had obviously found something in the woods to eat because there was a thin stream of blood dribbling off his chin.

Hermione saw a blur in the corner of her eye as Harry jumped to his feet. His wand miraculously appeared in his hand and he held it at eye level, pointed directly at Laszlo's forehead.

"You would do well to leave us alone," said Harry menacingly, having somehow sobered in the short time he had been standing against the tree.

Laszlo raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?" he whispered. "I am not afraid of you."

"Nor I of you," Harry retorted.

They stood staring at each other like two statues set in the ground. Harry's eyes were gleaming with fire, masking a wild dancer in the background. But Laszlo was not excited. He stared back coldly behind his mask of indifference.

Finally, Harry lowered his wand and turned down the path in a quick walk. "Come on, Hermione. We don't have much time."

Laszlo had still not moved, but his eyes remained pinned on Harry's shrinking form. Vampires, Hermione concluded, were not to be taken lightly, and she started down the path.

They had been walking for almost an hour and the temperature had dropped drastically as they started their uphill ascent. As far as Hermione could tell, the path was leading up a mountain and curved around the midsection, cutting between a neighboring mountain. Harry did not seem to notice or care. He was too busy glancing frantically into the bushes and wiping his palms on the sides of his pants.

The trees surrounding the path were enormous. They had no branches for thirty feet up the trunk. Above that was a sheet of leaves so thick that Hermione could barely tell it was daytime.

And so they walked along in the darkness.

"I'm going to owl Ron, you know, and my parents," said Hermione.

Harry continued walking, looking straight ahead and to the side. "I know," he said.

Hermione stared at Harry in the darkness. This was one more way Harry had changed over the summer: His responses had become terse, and every word had meaning. It was good, Hermione thought, but it became annoying to hold a conversation with him.

That was just it. It bothered Hermione that someone could change so much in so short a time. She could not imagine what he had gone through over the summer. And, after some quick calculation, she realized that she did not want to think about it. She contented herself with watching Harry's Mad-Eye-Moody-like antics as he scanned the path in front of them.

Then he stopped. He raised his head into the air. Hermione couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they were darting back and forth. Some bushes to the left of the path shook, followed by a blinding white light that caused Hermione to stumble and cover her eyes.

A stiff hand grabbed Hermione's wrist and spun her to the ground. She fell in the dirt and rolled off the path into a patch of tall grass. A bright red light flew over her head, blasting a hole in tree beside her. She heard a loud voice with a thick accent.

The moment lasted forever and an instant all at once. Hermione jumped to her feet just in time to see a darkly robed figure swing his wand down, sending a flurry of daggers from the tip as it moved. Harry stood ten feet in front of them.

But Hermione saw no fear in his eyes - his cold, blue eyes. No, she saw determination set like stone on his face. His body was poised like a coiled snake. And just as the daggers struck him, he smiled. It was not an evil smile nor a kind smile, but an amused, arrogant smile. His teeth did not show and the corners of his mouth turned slightly at the end - one corner more sharply than the other. It was not the smile of a loser, but of a winner.

Hermione screamed.

The darkly robed man lunged forward and sank his teeth into Harry's neck. It sounded like two swords clashing together.

There was a faint shimmer behind the man. The air looked like smoke; it was warped and bent. Then a hand reached up through an invisible hole in the ground. It shot upwards followed by a green blur and connected solidly with the man's head, which snapped forwards with a sickening crunch.

The man fell forward onto his knees and slumped to the ground.

All became silent; the leaves rustled in the wind and a cloud of dust glittered in the sunlight. Hermione glanced upward at the sudden flash and saw a thin, lanky figure grasping four tree around him, a silhouette against the sky. With a high pitched laugh it bounded off across the treetops and the gap in the forest ceiling closed, calling the darkness once again.

Hermione sprinted forward and slid to Harry's limp body. She looked down at his face and saw that his eyes were still blue. They sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. She had meant to ask him - she wondered if he even knew - but had been too afraid to do it in fear that Harry might run off.

His eyes brought coldness with him. He was untouchable, solid, with a glare like ice. They cut and sliced everything in their path. But they had no life, like Harry's green eyes, no sparkle to match. She hated those eyes, those orbs of blue fire. Now she would never see them again.

Harry's head was cold, almost metallic, under Hermione's hand. She pulled back and stared inquisitively at his forehead. It had felt - almost - Hermione thought she had gone mad - like a rock.

"Are you quite finished?" said a low voice.

Hermione jumped and spun around. She had nearly forgotten the invisible-hole man in her haste to get to Harry.

In fact, he looked a lot like Harry. He had the same wavy, black hair. The same thick-framed glasses rested on his nose. And he had the same eyes, the same wonderful, sparkling green eyes.

With a shout of joy Hermione tackled him in a bone-crushing hug. He still felt as hard as a rock.

"I'm fine, Hermione," said Harry blandly.

"But how?" asked Hermione as she pulled away. "How did you - the knives?"

"An illusion," responded Harry. "Let's get going; we don't have much time."

"An illusion?" shouted Hermione as she darted down the path after Harry. "You didn't tell me you could make _illusions_."

"There is a lot about me that you don't know," said Harry.

_That much is obvious_, Hermione thought bitterly. _I have to make him tell me. I have to know why his eyes turn blue. _

"Who was that man back there? Why did he attack you?" asked Hermione.

Harry stared into the air. "This school's population is half vampires. In order to appease their lust for blood, they are each allowed one new student from which to drink. I was that student's drink."

Hermione felt like vomiting. She had known the school was violent, but she had _not_ known it was barbaric. She liked it less and less with every word she heard about it.

"If that was a student, wouldn't those knives have killed you? That _is_ illegal here I presume," said Hermione.

"You are correct. However, those blades would not have killed me. They were coated in vampire venom. The moment they hit I would have been knocked out and when I awoke I would have been an undead vampire."

"If they wonder why their population is half vampires, I think I could tell them," said Hermione mockingly.

"They are not allowed to convert," Harry stated. "Their venom is banished from their fangs as long as they are on school grounds."

Hermione nodded. "Vampires are supposed to be eight times stronger than a human. How did you knock him out so easily?" asked Hermione.

Harry smirked - or at least that was what Hermione thought he did; she couldn't tell in the darkness. "They have three weaknesses. Two veins, which pump blood from each fang to their heart, run down their spine from their neck, down their back, and up under their ribcage. They will collapse if hit under the ribcage in the front or the back, or in the center of the neck between the shoulder blades."

"And how do you know all of this?" asked Hermione.

"Books," said Harry, shrugging. "And some experience."

"How terrible," muttered Hermione. She wanted to scream that it was an injustice, that no one should have to live like that. She wanted to grab Harry and pull him into another dimension where everything was right – where there were no Dark Lords or Death-Eaters or Horcruxes. But she couldn't.

And suddenly there was a cold breeze wafting towards them from down the path. Hermione looked up and covered her mouth with her hand. In front of them there was a gaping black hole, nearly fifty feet around, stuck in the side of the mountain like the mouth of a mad, screaming demon.

Before Hermione could utter a protest, Harry had already walked ahead, instantly blocked from view by the sheet of darkness. She walked to the edge, her heart beating madly. Every instinct told her to stay back, to turn around and walk away, but as she looked forward into the emptiness she heard a song, a sweet, glorious song, beckoning her forward to its infinite radiance, calling and tugging at her magic, which yearned to go forward. She could not resist and stepped into the abyss.

There, ten feet ahead, she saw Harry, grinning madly at her with his wand drawn and glaring with light. Something invisible was spinning around him, a vortex of power that blew over Hermione, sending shocks through her body. She sighed, suddenly, and felt contentment wash over her body, urged by the song in the distance. She felt like she was in a warm bath laying back with her eyes shut and thinking about nothing in particular. She felt like she was soaring through the sky without a fear in her mind. She felt like she was running wildly across a plain, barefoot and careless, shouting her song into the wind.

It abruptly stopped, and Hermione looked up to see the light gone and two glowing blue eyes staring back at her in the darkness.

She screamed as she felt a hand cover her mouth. It was Harry.

"We must move quickly. The bats are coming."

A shrill screech erupted from the darkness. The sound of a thousand fluttering wings sliced through the air and an army of beady red eyes appeared in the distance.

"Run!" shouted Harry, grabbing Hermione's hand.

They sprinted towards the bats and slid onto the ground as Harry cast a wordless shield charm. There was a loud concession of thumps as the bats collided with it and slid, unconscious, to the ground.

Like a hurricane of blackness they swarmed in circles around the dim, blue shield, screaming in protest, waiting for a moment to strike. Their tiny eyes whipped in circles around it, making an ominous red ring.

Hermione covered her ears and curled into a ball. The sound was piercing her skull. Her ears throbbed so violently that she touched them to make sure they weren't bleeding. She looked up and saw Harry crouching, with his eyebrows slanted, deep in thought, and his jaw set.

He held his wand loosely, but the gleam in his eyes was alert and ready. His gaze pierced the darkness, flitting around and about the blackest corners and the most impenetrable paths. He shifted so subtly that Hermione barely realized he was looking at her. His face was impassive.

"There's someone out there," he said.

Ice ran down Hermione's spine. She moved into a crouching position and grabbed her wand. One thing she had learned in her time with Harry is to never panic; he never did.

In an instant the red glowing ring dissipated and the sound of fluttering wings melted away. It was suddenly quiet—too quiet. Hermione glanced at Harry and saw his arm pointed straight to the side, his wand parallel and his wrist stiff. She looked down the invisible line and saw, although faintly, the dim outline of a man.

"Hello," said a familiar voice. "I believe we have met before."

The tip of Harry's wand lit, casting a thin beam of light forward onto the man's face. He had dark hair and gray eyes with small red lines around the edges. He was cleanly shaved and pale. His eyes glowed eerily.

Harry's face broke into a slight grin. "We have—Barkzay, is it?"

"Call me Laszlo, Mr. Burkhard, and I shall call you Harry."

Laszlo slid his hand into his robes and pulled out a long, thin wand, black as the surrounding darkness and gleaming like his watery eyes. Harry stiffened as Lazlo flicked his wand. With a loud cracking sound, the cave was flooded with light.

Hermione recoiled and covered her eyes. The light burned through her eyelids, and the headache which she thought could get no worse increased tenfold. She briefly wondered why Harry had not flinched.

"You have Marlo's Mask," said Harry suddenly with awe.

Hermione uncovered her eyes slowly and looked at Laszlo. He was grinning and leaning against the wall of the cave. He blinked.

"You are well versed in the ways of vampires—more than any human I have met. I am honored, but frightened, slightly. What is your motivation for researching the evil ways of the undead?"

Harry grinned. "You don't appear evil," he said. "And who wouldn't research their future classmates?"

"You are no fool," said Laszlo, sliding his wand back into his robes. "And neither is Miss Granger"—he turned to Hermione—"Though she does not have quite the mental shields as you."

Suddenly Harry tensed. His eyes thinned and he gripped his wand firmly. "That will change," he said.

"I have no doubt," said Laszlo. "You are not only intelligent, but wise. And your power is great—only once have I seen Anand's Portal cast correctly, and that was over a hundred years ago. I shall have some competition this year. Good luck to you."

Laszlo extended his hand. It was slim and white like the rest of his body, bony but smooth.

Harry grasped it and shook it firmly. "I have no doubt. I will be watching my back."

"There will be no need," said Laszlo. "I am not stupid enough to fight you. Instead, I would like to offer my services. You do look like you need some help getting through this cave. Might I join your party?"

A windstorm of magic gathered in the air, sparkling and swirling.

"If you wish, Mister Barkzay," said Harry smoothly. "If you wish."


	4. A Bloody Mess

**Chapter 4: A Bloody Mess  
**

A week ago, if anyone had told Hermione she would be strolling through a dark cave with Harry Potter and a vampire, she would have told them they were mad. Even now, as she watched Harry and Laszlo walking in front of her, she thought she might be dreaming. She was tempted to pinch herself awake, but refrained; it was an excellent dream.

It seemed like they had been walking for days. They had skirted a massive underground lake, wallowed through a muddy trench, squeezed through a tight gap which turned out to be the home of a large vampire-bat family. Luckily Laszlo talked them out of fussing and they went back to sleep.

Now, as Hermione waited for the next obstacle, she looked up and saw a gleam of light filtering in through a crack in the cave ceiling. Harry and Laszlo were already staring up it curiously.

Hermione's eyes widened as a sleek head pushed its way through the gap. Harry hissed and pulled Laszlo away as a snake fell onto the cave ground.

"It's an African Adder. Stay away from it—its poison is deadly," said Laszlo loudly.

"I know what it is," snarled Harry, pulling his wand out.

As if on cue, there was a loud rustling sound and another head popped out of the hole. Suddenly, as if the floodgates had broken, a waterfall of snakes began pouring from the hole.

"Run!" shouted Harry.

It took a long second for Hermione to realize she was on the wrong side of the snakes. She looked fearfully across at Harry.

Laszlo snarled and, with a swish of his cloak, vanished into the darkness. Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder and spun around in fright. She saw Laszlo's grave face staring back at her.

"Come on," he said as he knelt down, putting his right arm around Hermione's back and his left behind her knees. With a swift move he jerked Hermione off her feet and sprinted across the river of snakes.

Hermione screamed as she watched a snake slither up Harry's unmoving leg. His face suddenly lit up and transformed into a stone. With a hiss, Harry jumped into the air and spun around. His cloak billowed as his body turned sideways and a red light erupted from the openings in Harry's shirt and pants. He landed on one knee and a fist, and a stream of black dust fell from his robe.

Harry jumped to his feet and ran down the cave path, followed closely by Laszlo and Hermione. It quickly became apparent that Laszlo was a much faster runner. Not thirty seconds later, Harry was two turns behind them as Laszlo bolted out of the end of the cave.

"Come on," said Laszlo, placing Hermione gently on the ground. "We need to reach a safe-haven."

"But Harry..." sputtered Hermione, looking back into the darkness of the cave.

"He'll be fine!" growled Laszlo. "Keep running. I'll help Harry deal with the snakes."

Hermione hesitated, then sprinted down the path. She was out of the trees now and the sun was shining brightly ahead of her. And then, after she rounded the corner, she skidded to a stop and gasped. Ahead of her was a castle, no, a fortress, at least a hundred stories tall and extending sideways as far as Hermione could see. It was black – pure black – and an ancient stone fence surrounded it. At the very front, with two irritated looking gargoyles on either side, stood a marble gate with a sentence inscribed in the archway over the top of it. It read, "From dirt we begin; from this fire we live." It was signed crudely by Vladimir Rostov.

There was a yelp behind Hermione and she spun to see Harry limping around the bend, leaning on Laszlo who was covered from head to toe in blood. Hermione ran to Harry's side and grabbed his free arm.

"What happened?" she hissed.

Laszlo smirked and looked down at Hermione. "Harry performed the Cutting Curse and the Whirlwind Charm at the same time. It was centered around him so he wasn't harmed, just a bit tired. I, and the snakes, got the full blow. He's a fricking brilliant idiot."

A wave of relief washed over Hermione. "Will you be alright?" she asked.

"I'm a vampire—I can't die. No, I'll just be in pain for a few hours," said Laszlo.

"Oh no!" shouted Hermione as she glanced at Laszlo's leg. "You've been bitten!"

Laszlo looked down at his leg. He stared at it for a moment, then turned his head up to look at Hermione. "Now that's unfortunate," he said nonchalantly.

"Unfortunate? You need to find a healer _soon_," said Hermione urgently.

"I'll be fine," said Laszlo calmly. "I'm a vampire—I can't die. The blood, along with the poison, will eventually filter out of my body and I'll be as good as new. It'll be gone in two nights."

"So that's why..." muttered Hermione.

"Why I rescued you?" asked Laszlo.

"Yes. I thought you were being brave and heroic," said Hermione.

"Laszlo the Brave," said Laszlo, grinning. "I like it."

"Not a bloody chance," coughed Harry. "Now put me down so I can see the school."

Hermione and Laszlo looked at each other. Laszlo dropped Harry's arm and he slumped to the ground in a puff of dust.

"Well _forgive me_ for carrying you all the way," said Laszlo. "Next time I might just leave you there to bath in the lake of blood.

"Lay off, Laszlo," said Harry. "Thanks for your help."

"Apology accepted," said Laszlo, sniffing. "You owe me."

"I don't owe you a thing," said Harry. "What? Did you save me from that pool of blood?"

"Well now you don't have to smell bad for a week," offered Laszlo.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright, the next time you're laying in a pool of blood I'll carry you out. Happy?"

"Terribly," said Laszlo, grinning.

Hermione huffed and turned on her heel, walking towards the front gate. "Boys," she muttered.

For the first time, Hermione noticed a group of people standing near the fence. They were scattered in a line along it. Some had their wands out, sending powerful hexes and curses at the fence, while others were standing back, observing silently.

A woman's voice interrupted her thoughts. "May I help you, dear?"

"Yes," said Hermione, looking up. "I'm here to register for school."

The woman chuckled. "Of course you are. Your name?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"You're all set," said the woman, jotting Hermione's name down on a list and placing it onto a stack of papers.

"Nothing to sign?" asked Hermione.

"No, dear. You just have to pass the test."

_The test_, thought Hermione. _I had almost forgotten_.

"Thank you," said Hermione, turning away. "Good day."

She walked a ways down the fence, studying the intricate patterns and wondering at the complex runes cut into the bars. Harry was right; the fence didn't seem powerful—in fact it appeared quite old and weak. But, Hermione knew, that meant Harry was also right about the ancient magic lurking about it. She would have to be careful.

The sound of feet pounding against dirt alerted Hermione to Harry and Laszlo running up beside her. They stopped a few feet before her and turned to look at the fence.

"Well?" asked Harry. "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful," said Hermione. "It's beautiful and scary."

"And very powerful," said Laszlo, wide-eyed. "I-I can't even sense its power. I just feel it; its all over me, binding me and holding me back. This is... phenomenal."

Harry walked forward and ran his hand over one of the vertical bars. He traced the engraved runes with his finger and stared calmly into the air.

"I don't know how we'll get past it," said Laszlo quietly. "Do you have any ideas?"

Hermione shook her head. "Hexes won't work—someone back there tried most of the useful ones. Maybe it's something subtle—something simple, easy."

"I doubt it," said Laszlo. "This is the most prestigious wizarding school in the world. Well... except for Australia and Britain, who think their schools are the best. They're all fools."

"I'm British, you know," said Hermione defensively.

"And you're not pompous _or_ snooty," said Laszlo. "Stunning."

"We're not _all _that way. There are—"

"Forget it. We need to get past this gate," said Laszlo, gesturing to the daunting gate in front of them. "Let me try Legilimency."

Laszlo put his two index fingers up to his temples and shut his eyes, lowering his head towards the fence. He stood for a moment, then breathed out and shook his head.

"Not a chance. This thing's impenetrable," he informed them.

"Let me try," said Hermione, stepping forward.

For the first time all day, Hermione pulled out her wand. She did not like to use magic unless it was necessary. This situation called for it.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. It couldn't be a forceful spell, she reasoned, or the fence would have been destroyed by now. The fence did not have a mind—Laszlo had proved that—so it couldn't be a mental hex. That left time-manipulating spells, conjuration spells, self modification spells and raw magic.

"_Impedimenta!_" shouted Hermione.

The feeling of magic rushing through her body awakened her soul. It sent a wave of energy shooting through her veins, in her arms and in her legs and all through her body.

The spell collided with the gate and dissipated.

Since Hermione was neither an Metamorphmagus nor an Animagus nor skilled in conjuration, she walked up to the fence to try sending her magic into it—her own raw magic. She grasped one of the bars and closed her eyes. With a push of willpower, she urged her magic into the fence. It spread out slowly from somewhere deep in her soul and seeped through her skin. She stood, calm and collected, waiting for it to touch the bar, but it never did. Something was pushing it away.

Hermione sighed and walked back to Laszlo. "I don't know. We'll have to think of something else. And what in Merlin's name is Harry doing?"

Still standing along the fence, Harry was running his hands up and down the bars, muttering to himself. He had been standing there the past fifteen minutes, humming under his breath, stroking the bars.

"Harry," said Hermione quietly as she walked beside him. "Are you feeling well?"

"Fine," said Harry dully, his right hand moving in a quick circle as it passed over a rune.

"And why are you touching the fence?"

"It's interesting," said Harry.

"Yes, I have always found rocks interesting," sneered Laszlo, who had silently appeared between them. "Especially when they are sitting on the ground doing absolutely _nothing_."

"Interesting," whispered Harry. "Very interesting."

Laszlo rolled his eyes. "He's gone loony. Let's go get a bite to eat; I'm starved," he said, turning from Harry.

Hermione bit her lip again. "I suppose he'll be fine here. This is odd, very odd."

"And I'm hungry, very hungry. There's a restaurant over by the gate. Come on," said Laszlo.

Hermione followed Laszlo down the path by the fence, ducking once to avoid a badly aimed hex, and into a small log cabin across the path. It was warm and welcoming inside, even though there were only a few occupants. A short, pudgy woman with rosy cheeks greeted them.

"Miss Granger, Mister Barkzay, pleased to meet you," she bowed gracefully then bounced back up. "I have a table ready. Follow me."

Hermione and Laszlo shared a confused glance, then followed the woman around the counter to a small table in the corner of the dining room. They sat down at the candlelit table and glanced around the room.

It was small and made entirely of wood. The floor was sanded and finished, and the wall was made of logs. In the center was a large buffet with hundreds of drawers and a glass canopy covering it.

"May I get you something to drink?" asked the mysterious woman.

"I'll have a water, please," said Hermione.

"Wolves Blood, thank you," said Laszlo.

With a sick feeling Hermione remembered that she was eating with a vampire. She reprimanded herself for not foreseeing it.

"Most certainly!" said the woman lightly before bounding out of the room.

Laszlo began surveying the room again, but Hermione watched his face and eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He repeatedly glanced at the buffet in the center of the room and at the ceiling above it. It was a dark square in the center of the ceiling, most likely a support beam covered in shadows. Nevertheless, Laszlo was quite interested in it.

It seemed like an hour before the woman returned with their drinks. She slid them across the table and pulled a small notebook from her pocket.

"Have you decided what to eat yet?" asked the woman joyfully.

"You haven't given us a menu," said Hermione.

"Of course not, dear," said the woman, staring blankly back at Hermione. Her smile was becoming annoying.

"Then how will we order?" asked Hermione.

"What do you mean?" said the irritatingly jolly woman.

"I mean—how do we know what we can order if we don't have a menu?"

The woman cocked her head to slightly the side. "I don't understand."

Laszlo spoke before Hermione could respond. "I'll have a chicken—raw, please."

"And you, Miss Granger?" asked the woman after jotting down Laszlo's request.

"Toast," said Hermione exasperatedly. "Just toast."

"Would you like butter or jam?"

"Neither!" said Hermione. "Just toast. Just two pieces of dry, crisp toast with nothing on them. Is it that hard to understand?"

"No need to get angry, now," said the diabolically happy woman. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"

After the woman bounced out of the room, Hermione threw her hands into the air. "What?" asked Hermione. "Did I say something difficult to understand? What's so hard about _"You haven't given us a menu?_""

But Laszlo was not paying attention. His gaze was once again resting on the dark square above the buffet.

Hermione leaned forward onto the table and lay her head on her hands, praying desperately that not everyone in the school would be so nefariously giddy.

They left the restaurant a couple hours later, both full and ready to tackle the fence once again. But as they approached the portion of the fence where Harry was, Hermione realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that Harry was nowhere to be found.

She shared a look with Laszlo, then turned around and began running along the fence. It was long and straight, longer than Hermione had first estimated. She rounded the corner and stared down the fence. It was hard to see any distance in the dim moonlight, but she could clearly see the reflection of water past the school, with no trace of Harry in its midst.

Hermione raced back to the path, where she found Laszlo pacing.

"Anything?" asked Hermione hopefully.

"No," said Laszlo. "He must have walked back to the cave."

"Why?" asked Hermione. "He's not _that_ stupid."

Laszlo glared at her, then took off down the path. They sprinted around the bend. As Hermione saw the cave opening, she looked at the ground and gagged, falling onto her knees. On the ground in front of the cave was a pool of blood, at least ten feet around, filled with shreds of black and yellow skin and pieces of eyes and teeth. It's rampant stench wafted into Hermione's nose, causing her to fall forward, nearly keeling over. She was laying in the sand when she realized she was laying in a streak of blood—a streak of Laszlo's blood.

"I'm going to throw up," said Hermione dizzily, scrambling to her feet.

"He's in there," said Laszlo.

"What?" asked Hermione, steadying herself. "How do you know?

"Because he was writing on the wall..."

"Writing?" asked Hermione.

A sick feeling filled Hermione. And the feeling was not from the blood, but from the disgusted look on Laszlo's face as he squinted into the darkness of the cave. He shook his head and met Hermione's gaze.

"He wrote it in his blood," Laszlo said gravely.

Hermione did not need another telling. She ran at full speed around the outside of the pool on the ground and leaped onto the dry cave ground. It took her only a second to see the neat cursive on the wall that distinctly read, "Riddle."

Time stopped. In a rush, the howling wind outside the cave deadened and the dripping sound in the cave ceased. In a distant place, far away and hidden under darkness and evil, Hermione heard a maniacal laugh pierce the night, sending ice down her veins.

Voldemort, no matter how far they traveled, no matter how well they hid, always found his enemies. She had thought it impossible this time, but he had proved her wrong again. It was both sick and daunting how accomplished a wizard he was. But there was still a hope, like a candle covered gently from the rain, that Harry would come through and defeat him.

A great gust of wind had nearly doused it.

It was easy to see the trail of blood leading into the darkness. Hermione ran down it, using her nose as a guide. Laszlo appeared a moment later with a swish and the sound of rushing air, just as he always did, and sprinted alongside her.

They were both speechless. Then, as they rounded a familiar corner, they saw a great light explode from the farthest wall. Laszlo covered his eyes, but Hermione fought back the tears and stared ahead.

There, against the blinding light, was a figure, tall and lanky with thin arms and legs and long shaggy hair, standing with its arms outstretched and its feet planted far apart above a mass on the ground. It pranced around, hopping up and down, chuckling madly. Then it turned its head and saw Hermione. With a shrill laugh it spun around, rising slowly into the air. And then, along with the light, it vanished.

All was silent, but Hermione's head was filled with a steady pounding. She felt like she had been hanging upside down for an hour, the blood pumping through her head and her heart beating into her ribs.

The mass on the floor was Harry.

Hermione slid onto the ground beside him and laid her hand on his crumpled form. He was curled into a ball, holding tightly onto his knees, with his head lolled off to the side and his mouth hanging open slightly. His breath was pushing the stream of blood that dribbled slowly from his mouth.

"No," groaned Hermione. "We've got to get him to a healer."

"Allow me," said Laszlo, who bent down and placed his wand on Harry's body.

There was a brief pulse of magic before Laszlo gathered Harry in his arms and stood up.

"Go back to the gate and tell the clerk what happened. I'll meet you tomorrow morning. And take this," he produced a small bag from within the folds of his robes and tossed it to Hermione. "That's Harry's tent. Set it up near one of the corners, but away from the trees."

Hermione nodded, staring downcast at the puddle of blood where Harry's head used to lay and not wondering in the least how Laszlo obtained Harry's tent. She barely noticed Laszlo swirl his cloak and disappear in a rush of wind.

The night passed nearly as fast as a drowsy turtle strolling across an interstate. Hermione had walked back to the school gates with her mind as dull and heavy as a boulder. She had set up the tent without passion, slowly and methodically, without paying much attention to her surroundings. Once, she thought someone had called her name, but continued her grieving as if nothing had happened. And when she had finally crawled into bed, she found that it was impossible to sleep. All night long she stared at the magically expanded tent ceiling, wondering how Harry was doing and where Laszlo had taken him.

Finally, at three o' clock in the morning, after much annoyed deliberation, she rolled irritably out of bed to write a letter home. It took her twenty minutes to get the paper from Harry's trunk, which he had left in the tent on the dining room table, and find his ink and quill. She had no motivation to move any quicker.

She hunched over a small wooden desk near her bed and twirled the eagle's feather in her hand. Of all the thousand events to describe, she couldn't decide where to start.

The beginning, she chose, would suffice.

_Dear Ron, _

_Are you feeling better? Hopefully you will recover soon. Pray that Harry does, too. _

_Of course you will be wondering why I say that. Well, while you were sleeping, I followed him out of the school and up the path to Hogsmeade. He was mumbling to himself the whole way up, and when he finally stopped, he turned around and asked me if I felt the magic in the air. It was bizarre. Then he did the most odd thing, and told me about this school he wants to attend. He had forbidden me to tell the exact location, but I can tell you that it is the most barbaric place of which I have ever heard. The students—the _professors—_are all power hungry monsters! Anyways, we were walking down to the Shrieking Shack when he told me he was going to the school—right then. And even more oddly, he asked if I would come with him. You've probably guessed this by now, but I did did go. _

_I couldn't just let him run off again, could I? _

_Now we're at the school, after trudging through this great, dark forest, and are trying to pass the entrance test. Or I should say we _were_ at the school. I went to get a bite to eat, and when I came back, Harry was missing. This nice man I met helped me find him. He had walked back along the path which we had followed to get to the school, and was laying on the ground, beaten and bruised. The man took him to a healer, and I went back to set up a tent, which is where I am now at three in the morning writing a letter to you. _

_I'm so sorry, Ron; I wish you were here. It's lonely and cold and there are no good books to keep me company. _

_Please write soon. _

_With love, _

_Hermione_

Hermione reread her letter quickly before folding it neatly and slipping it into the charmed pocket on her shirt. She had the idea for the pocket at the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts, and had been so delighted that she added one to each of her shirts, and even modified some of her pants and a rather gaudy looking hat she had received for her birthday. The memory brought back a spark of joy for a moment. Then she went back to moping and stressing about Harry as she climbed back into bed.

The sun was just breaking in through the eastern window as she nodded off into a long, dreamless sleep.

Waking up with a spider on your forehead is very unsettling, but it is not nearly as unsettling as waking up next to a darkly clad figure hanging from the ceiling. Hermione shrieked and jumped out of bed onto the floor, only to see that the dark figure was Laszlo, and he was grinning impishly at her from his perch.

"Good morning?" he asked as he flipped down and landed gently on the floor.

Hermione didn't grace him with an answer. Instead, she glared at him and strutted out of the room, only to realize, like one who has just swerved to avoid a terrible accident, that she had not yet asked Laszlo about Harry.

She burst back into the room.

"What happened? Is he well? Where is he?"

"He hit his head. He's fine—a few blood replenishing potions did the trick. And he's standing right behind you with an annoyingly smug look plastered on his face."

It took Hermione three seconds to realize what Laszlo was saying. She spun around and saw Harry leaning against the door frame looking incredibly content and slightly mischievous.

"Don't look at me like you've seen a ghost, Hermione. It's rather immature, you know." said Harry, shaking his head like an wise old grandfather.

Hermione wrapped him in a tight hug, careful not to squeeze too hard, just in case there were any unhealed bone fractures. "Merlin, Harry, it's good to see you. You have no idea how worried I was."

"No," said Harry. "I think I do."

"Of course you do," said Hermione, pulling back. "So you know exactly what I mean when I say that I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"Well..." began Harry.

"Now you've done it," said Laszlo in a mocking tone. "You've unleashed the wrath of the mighty Granger. All bow—" he ducked as Hermione hurled a pillow at him.

For once in what seemed like years, Hermione laughed, along with Harry and Laszlo. After settling down, they began walking to the restaurant as they discussed the previous day's events.

"Really, Harry, what do you remember? How did you get back in the cave?" asked Hermione.

Harry kicked a small stone with his foot. "I don't remember a second of it. All I know is that I was reading the bars on the fence when this barmy old codger walked up to me with this long cane and started talking to me in this weird language. After that, I was watching stars and Laszlo's disgusting face as he carried me into the hospital."

"Hey!" shouted Laszlo in indignation. "My face is quite beautiful, compared to your pale, washed-up looking one. In fact, I gaze at myself in the mirror every morning for at _least_ half an hour. It really helps me stay sane. You should try it. I have this great big picture of me in my room—"

"Shut your trap," said Harry, scowling. "I need nothing less than a picture of you to stare at every morning. It's bad enough having to smell you from the other room."

Before Laszlo could respond, Hermione threw up her hands. "You're both acting like infants. We need to figure out this test before the afternoon, or we're going to flunk and head home. Now, have you any _intelligent_ ideas?"

The look on Harry's face was frightening. His mouth curved into an odd, curving little grin and he stared over to the gate, where a small crowd gathered. He raised an eyebrow suggestively and turned, walking towards it.

"I think I may have one," he said.

And as he swept down the path with grace and ease, leaving hardly a sign of his presence behind him. Hermione had no doubt in her mind that he did, indeed, have an excellent idea.


End file.
